Of Love and Silvery Verses
by ariadne-chan
Summary: Transient: adj; not lasting, enduring, or permanent; transitory. A collection of drabbles and ficlets revolving around the unlikely relationship between the transient shades of blue and green.
1. Chapter 1

_this is fact, not fiction_

_for the first time in years_

_i should have given you a reason to stay_

- a lack of color by death cab for cutie_  
_

---

**1. Transient**

Sometimes, Tsuchiura Ryoutarou can't help but admit to himself that it feels like they're running in one vast, ceaseless circle—one that keeps expanding out farther and farther, until it feels like they'll be treading this cyclical path forever.

He's grown up enough to realize that 'forever' is a despairingly transient concept for a pianist. Or anyone for that matter. _Grown up _enough_ to realize that the concours is way behind him. Way behind them now._

So he plays a little faster, presses his fingers against black and ivory keys a little harder, performs a little more fervently—tries to catch up to _him—_tries to force this forever to end, so that they can finally move on and begin a new one. But each new piece—each song through his ears, each powerful bowing straining against _his_ melody, each expressionless gaze—takes longer to heal, bleeding his spirit dry like a hemophilia of the soul.

Each new time that Tsukimori Len just barely slips out of his reach, he finds himself wondering why he's never wanted to mean _something_ to anybody even half as much.

(He doesn't know that sometimes, instead of replaying the feeling of pride and accomplishment staring at the clamoring crowd crying _Bravo! Bravo! Encore!! _after his first solo concert abroad, Tsukimori Len's dreams leave him staring out at a beautiful piano-violin ensemble, the blue bright against the green. _Perfect.)_

Tsuchiura Ryoutarou sighs as he places the pen down above his notes—he leans against his piano, _his life,_ and blames the lactic acid in his tired limbs for the slow, burning ache that gradually threatens to consume him.

---

**how's that for my first yaoi story? **though i'm happy to announce that there definitely would be no M-rated fics from me. yay. :3 **stay tuned for updates. :3**


	2. Chapter 2

_I build myself up and fly around in circles_

_Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle_

_Finally could this be it?  
_

- chasing pavements by adele

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**2. Spaces**

It doesn't matter how many times she looks at them. She still tears up, every single time.

And it is only time that has blurred the pain and allowed for peace to settle in her chest, much like the strands of gray that are slowly infiltrating her crimson hair. The fine wrinkles around her eyes are never more visible as when she's smiling.

Smiling through her tears, smiling for them, smiling because she knows that they're finally free. Smiling because happy tears are all that she has left to offer them.

_Tsuchiura Ryoutarou_. _Tsukimori Len_. Her fingers trace the characters etched beside each other on the memorial stone, where they are eternally separated by nothing farther than the space between their names.

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i know the song and the story doesn't match up well, but never you mind that bit. hehehe.** i write for writing's sake--people keep on asking what pushed me to publish **_**this ****series****,**_** but i tend not to answer directly because frankly i don't know the answer myself. so there. :3**


	3. Chapter 3

_insanity laughs_

_under pressure we're cracking_

_can't we give ourselves one more chance?_

- under pressure by queen

_---  
_

**3. Pressure**

Tsukimori Len never voluntarily held his hand.

Which, of course, made Tsuchiura Ryoutarou want to hold it all the more.

But Ryou understood—he'd known since their relationship began that his bastard sucked at showing affection. Hell, before _Len-_and-_Ryou_, the only thing that the cerulean-haired young man ever cared for was his violin. _He probably cared for Hino Kahoko, too, but that _is_ out of the question now. _He loved him for it anyway. He did his best to avoid drawing attention to them when they were out in public, knowing it made the violinist uneasy. _Most of all, he knew 'unease' was just another word for 'fear'._

But one sunny summer afternoon after a particularly difficult piano-violin ensemble practice and they had taken into walking down the sidewalk, he forgot himself, lost as he was in the rare resonance of Tsukimori Len's soft laughter. It was a sound only he was ever graced with, so he kissed Len right there and then, in the middle of the crowded street, oblivious to all the people around them.

He felt the smile freeze and wither under his lips, and slowly withdrew. Instinctively, his hands reached out to grab Len's forearms, stilling him before he could push Ryou away. _Again._

Len looked like he was ready to jerk out of Ryou's hold and bolt—the pianist could have almost laughed at the realization that _the Tsukimori Len_, the Ice Cube slash genius violinist, who never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him, was actually human enough to recoil from the hostility of total strangers.

Every line in Len was taut, on edge—even his words came expelled from a clenched jaw, so soft Ryou could hardly hear them. "How…can you _not_ mind the way that they look at us?" _At how much they hate us, just for being with each other? _

Ryou's stance, his eyes, his smile—all were resolute.

"I'm here with you, aren't I?"

A long moment passed in which Len merely stared at him, before letting out a sigh that made the rigidity in his shoulders finally ease.

"Idiot pianist."

But as Ryou's hands loosened and fell away from his wrists, he caught one with his own and gripped it tightly. Through his surprise, Ryou still managed to catch a glimpse of the faint smile Len was trying to hide. _Lucky._

They continued on with their walk.

They didn't need, or want, a parade. There was enough pride apparent in every footstep, in each interlaced finger.

---

**_i'm_**_ under pressure._ blah. XD


	4. Chapter 4

_on these cold nights_

_i wonder how you make it through..._

_i'm not gonna let this phase me_

_-cold night by socialburn  
_

**4. Lights**

Ryou often asked him to turn the lights off, some nights as he sat by the window. Those were the gorgeous nights, without exception—those were the lovely nights, the nights of strong winds and heavy rains, or strong winds and country sky where black lingered above purple lingered above blue above green surrounding a moon that gleamed like a scraped coin. Those were the still nights, when everything seemed to hold its breath in anticipation—of winter, of spring, small death or small rebirth. Those were the nights that seemed to glow from the belly with far-off phosphorescence, or with snow tumbling end over end, buffeted by light.

Ryou would complain that he couldn't see, sitting by the window, wrapped in a blanket and his arms atop that, a mug of coffee warming his hands. Len would segue into the principles of two-way mirrors, the peculiarities of optics, the interplay of light and dark upon transparent surfaces. He'd elbow the violinist, usually lightly, in the shoulder and tell him to turn off the lights, please. He'd point out dryly that Ryou was sitting on _his_ legs, and would guide the back of his head down upon his shoulder, which was kind of hard, since the other boy was considerably bulkier, but that is hardly the point and Ryou would shut up then.

Thing was, Len didn't want to turn off the lights. The interplay of light and dark upon the glass left an image of Ryou's face reflected before the night sky. It was that face, lit up by or thoughtful about what he saw, that he wanted to watch. Snow, rain, wind, burnished moon be damned—he needed no sight to watch, to inspire him, but that of his eyes reflecting the changes of the weather.

**yaaaay! sitting on**—**on**—**the farthest i could go. gaah. no more (naughty) pieces. XD**


End file.
